Wild Horses Run Free (So Can We)

Will you embrace the wild in you?

A few years ago, I had the privilege to walk through the most primal forest I’ve ever seen. Live oak branches twisted and tangled together in every direction — around me, above me, stretching as far as the eye could see into a clear blue sky. Palmettos were as tall as me, taller sometimes, and they brushed up lightly against thick tree trunks that seemed as old as time. Spanish moss clung to twisting branches, swaying in the breeze like ship sails or ghosts.

Wild horses ran free over beaches and across the ruins of a once-stately home. There was so much wild there living in the thickness of forest, marsh, and beaches. I felt like my soul opened up wide in response. For the first time in a long time, mindfulness fully took the place of stress.

The island wasn’t the only thing that went wild; my hair did, too. I had straightened it carefully before leaving for the trip. Within an hour of the beach, it had relaxed into waves. By the time I was boarding the ferry, it had gone to curls.

Not just a few tame curls either. It was the thick tangle of salt-water curls, true beach hair. Although I never got my hair wet on this excursion to the shore, my hair immediately became as wild as its surroundings. And, for once, I didn’t try to tame it.

It’s funny that I’ve always seen my curly hair as being messy. I didn’t see it as sexy, wild, or free. I’ve been taming my hair, and I’m wondering now if I’ve been taming myself too.

Maybe we should all be more wild. Primal. Feral, even. Perhaps we’ve been contained when we should have been powerful — polite when we should have been raw. I wonder if there’s a path inside of us where we can return to the wild of our childhood — and, perhaps, to a wild we’ve never known.

I missed the ferry that day in my search for the wild in me. I secretly wanted to miss it, but then I nearly panicked when I realized that it was happening. There was no way for me to make it across the island in time. That’s when I ran into a group that reminded me that another ferry would be along. I wouldn’t miss that one. If I did, they offered me a ride back on their boat, should I need it.

It came to me then: we can’t miss what is meant for us. And what we do miss was never ours anyway. I slowed down then and enjoyed the wild of the sea running over my feet, soaking the bright silk of the dress that I was wearing. I liked the wet silk against my skin as I walked in the cool tide, taking in the expanse of sea and sky.

I could have spent days there, but I was grateful for the hours I had. I felt like I was kissed by the sea, embraced by the forest, blessed by wild horses, stroked by the sun, and brushed by the wind. I felt loved, cherished, known by the universe — and reminded that we need to embrace being wild in favor of being tame.

It’s an un-learning and re-learning. Becoming less polished and more real. We need to show up as our raw selves if we want to have any chance of encountering souls rather than facades. It’s stepping away from all that we’ve been taught we should be to figure out who we are — going back to the basics of what makes us feel joyful, free, or alive.

I sit with this idea of wildness — knowing that lately I’ve carried around a heavy heart that doesn’t feel free at all. Joy has been beyond me. I’ve felt alive, but I’ve also pulled away from the world — wanting less of it to hurt me. That self-protective bubble can be an integral part of healing, but someday, I’ll have to leave it. To choose letting my heart and its unruly feelings run wild again. To embrace love in all its messiness.

I think sometimes of that wild island with its primal forests, stark ruins, and stretching shore. I remember how it felt, and I bring it into my present. I think about the choices I make in life, the times when I water myself down to be a little more acceptable to someone else — when I choose being tame over being real.

Those tastes of freedom, the glimpse of a wilder side of ourselves, can serve as a reminder every time we’re tempted to make a choice that doesn’t serve our higher purpose — every time we’re pressured to be someone other than who we really are. It is a reminder that while our lives are intertwined with others, they are our own. Wild horses run free — but so can we.